I'm never exactly sure what a night at work will be like at Mortar House but I know that it will include some degree of discomfort and occasionally a good deal of pain. You see, Mortar House is an exclusive dungeon, and I am currently the most sought-after sub in the place. So when I showed up on a typically quiet Tuesday night to find the place buzzing with a peculiar energy, I was only mildly surprised. When Helena, the uber-efficient maitre d'hôtel, pulled me urgently into her salon and informed me that my schedule had been cleared due to a special request by a Very Important Person, I wasn't concerned.
"Repeat customer?" I asked, perching on the edge of the dainty French reproduction chair in front of her desk and arranging my flouncy little sundress just so.
Helena sat opposite me, smoothing her perfect blonde chignon with both hands, something I knew was a nervous habit. Her normally porcelain-pale complexion was a bit flushed and she'd chewed away most of her flawlessly applied matte lipstick. Something was definitely up. "No, and I truly can't say any more about his identity."
This was not uncommon either. Most Very Important Persons did not make their patronage of dungeons known to the world but something about Helena's inability to keep still and look me in the eye put me on high alert.
"Local?" I tried casually. "Young or old? Is he hot?"
Helena made an exasperated noise—again completely out of character—and whipped open an unmarked manila folder. "No more questions, Leah. Here are the gentleman's preferences."
I watched her perfect bow of a mouth shape the words as she read. "The gentleman may choose to engage in light bondage, discipline which may include mild flogging and/or spanking with his hand or an implement of his choice, withholding and/or forcing orgasm. Oh, and...anything else you two agree upon that does not exceed your hard limits."
I frowned and went very still. Helena's voice had quavered ever so slightly on that last part. She looked at me now, an apology and a question in her pale gray eyes. In my year of working at Mortar House she had never uttered those words. 'Anything you two agree upon' was the super secret code for sex.
I am not a prostitute and Mortar House is not a brothel. But when I'd been hired, there had been a clause in my employment contract about the rare possibility of a client wanting sex. I had indicated I'd be willing, under the right circumstances and for the right price, a very high price that the average client either wouldn't be willing to pay or couldn't afford.
"Helena, wow. Whoa." I jumped up and wandered over to the window that overlooked a little courtyard in the back of the house. It was that time of evening when the sky was vivid with pinks and purples. It made me think of bruises. For some dumb reason, I'd never actually expected to have to make this decision. I'd been tempted a few times with a few clients but of course I'd never acted on it. It was all part of the game we got off on, emotions ran high and the desire to fuck was sometimes pretty strong. Part of the allure was in knowing it wasn't going to happen, no matter how much I begged for it or how much the client taunted me with threats of doing it or withholding it.
"Of course, you can decline this particular appointment." Helena didn't need to remind me. That was standard operating procedure. Every client was investigated and the choice of taking them on was ultimately mine. She was downright flustered, a word I'd never thought to use in a sentence describing lovely, unshakeable Helena.
Who the hell was this guy?
I went and sat back down, where Helena hadn't moved an inch, watching me now with a disturbingly neutral expression. "I know you can't tell me much but just tell me this—will I regret it?"
